Prima Facie
by Burked
Summary: Nick is implicated by the evidence in a murder investigation.


**Disclaimer:** Okay, by now, I think everyone knows I don't own CSI. But if someone wants to give it to me for Christmas or my birthday, I'm okay with that. I promise I'll feed it, love it, and take it for walks.

**A/N:** I would also think that everyone who reads my stories knows by now that the talented writer Mossley betas for me, and that I'm grateful for that. I had previously posted this story on my website, but delayed posting it here because randomly changed the formatting and it was a beating to get it straight.

* * *

"How did this happen?" The tone was as accusatory as it was questioning. Gil Grissom's voice had none of the mentoring quality Greg Sanders had recently come to enjoy. It was strictly supervisory.

"I ... I don't know," Greg answered, swallowing ineffectively at the lump lodged in his throat. He thought he'd moved past the point of fearing Grissom. He knew now that he had been wrong to believe that.

"Theorize," Grissom snapped, looking at the young DNA tech with eyes that no longer had the look of cool, blue water, but instead appeared icily gray.

Sara Sidle looked at the young man empathetically – she knew only too well what it was like to be on the bad side of Gil Grissom. For some people, it was entirely too easy to get there, and hard to get back from.

It's not that he was purposefully unforgiving; no, it was only that he seemed often to be a creature of habit, and he seemed to fall into behavioral habits all too quickly and easily.

"Cross-contamination, I guess. But that would mean that Nick had to have contaminated the sample he submitted with his own DNA, then I had to contaminate the sample from your case with the DNA contamination from his case. The chances of both happening simultaneously are almost infinitesimally small."

"But possible," Grissom huffed. "And it would appear likely, in this case."

"It's theoretically possible," Greg conceded. To casual observers, Greg might seem likely to be a bit irresponsible, if one judged him only on appearances. But in all the years he'd been a DNA/Chem Lab Analyst in Las Vegas, he'd never had one confirmed case of cross-contamination.

He'd always been careful with his procedures and his decontamination protocols. He'd always used controls and blanks in every DNA run to check for contamination in the lab. He calibrated his equipment before every batch, ran diagnostics every week, and scrupulously maintained his equipment.

And Nick hadn't been in the DNA lab that day. Greg had not only cleaned up before he left last shift, but had started his work day by spraying all the surfaces with a bleach solution, just like every other day. There was no explanation for having Nick's DNA come up in the sample. None at all. None that was imaginable.

Greg turned to face the computer monitor, willing it to stop indicating that it had found a match in the Compliance database. Looking at the screen, he noticed it was no longer the record from Compliance; instead, a CODIS record showed a match.

"What the hell?" he huffed, shaking his head.

"What is it?" Sara asked, walking up behind him to peer over his shoulder. She was as close behind him as she could get without actually touching her front to his back, yet it gave her no sensation.

Whether she thought of it as aura, or more scientifically as the body's electromagnetic field, she knew that when hers overlapped Greg's – or almost anyone else she worked with – it never seemed disturbed. Hers and theirs seemed to merely to share the same space at the same time.

Recently, just as when she first arrived, when she was this close to Catherine it felt as if they somehow had reversed polarity: there was a repulsion, almost painful, like two like magnets pushing away from each other.

But when she came into this close contact with Grissom, it was as if their auras coalesced and pulled each other into a dance, the magnetic attraction increasing as the distance between them decreased.

"I didn't cancel the database search when it first hit on Compliance. Now it's showing a hit on CODIS."

"What?" Grissom exclaimed, joining the two in front of the monitor. Sara could feel the pull of him as he neared.

"According to the CODIS database, the DNA that Compliance matched to Nick also matches to a CODIS record. It's from an unidentified suspect, from an unsolved rape and murder of a prostitute in Dallas County eight years ago."

"It can't be Nick's," Sara said, shaking her head. "It would have shown up on their Compliance database."

"Maybe they didn't run it against Compliance. Not every lab even ran DNA through CODIS back then. Even now, there are fewer than 200 labs using it in the whole country," Greg explained.

"What about when he was hired here? Wouldn't it have been run then?"

"Well, you know, most labs run anywhere from several months to a few years behind in their input into CODIS. It's a low priority. It's way better now that so many of the bigger labs have a LIMS computer system that can upload the data. But records from eight years ago might not have been entered for years, especially for an unidentified suspect in an unsolved case," Greg explained.

"Wait a minute," Sara said, shaking her head. "How long ago was Nick hired?" She turned to Grissom.

"Seven years ago," he said quietly, his face beginning to tighten.

"How old is that record?" Sara asked nervously.

"The date says it was entered by someone named Dee Hawkins on December 12th, 1998," Greg answered.

"It was entered a year after Nick was hired here. So it wouldn't have hit when the Compliance DNA sample was run," Grissom summarized.

"This is fu..., uh, screwed up," Greg said, shaking his head. "Something's got to be wrong here."

"What are the chances? How many markers match?" Grissom asked.

"All 13. The chances of another person having exactly the same DNA pattern for all 13, for a Caucasian in a non-cloistered ethnic group, is probably about one in several trillion," Greg answered glumly.

"So there no one else on Earth who could have that pattern," Sara stated rather than asked.

"Not exactly," Grissom answered. "It's an estimate of likelihood. It's _likely_ that no one else has that pattern. Could be a dozen. Could be only Nick. But the probability of one of those people living in the same area as Nick at the same time as Nick and having the same DNA as Nick, is almost non-existent, unless he has a twin he hasn't told us about."

"There were seven kids in his family, but none are twins," Sara answered, surprising Grissom with her knowledge of Nick's family background.

"Print it out," Grissom said heavily. "Shit!" he hissed under his breath. He rubbed his forehead with one hand as he held the paper in the other, reading and re-reading, hoping something would jump out to categorically exclude Nick.

"I'm so not believing this," Sara murmured, looking first to Greg for his wistful confirmation, then to Grissom. He was their leader, and one of the top forensic scientists in the country. Some part of her almost childishly wanted him to instantly fix this, to make the mistake go away. One part wanted to run to her friend, to tell him about the injustice being done to him, and reassure herself that it wasn't possible.

And one part remembered that the DNA samples that they were analyzing were from a raped, murdered prostitute. And even though he'd been cleared, she couldn't help but recall that he'd been accused a couple of years ago of murdering a prostitute with whom he admitted having sex, whether it was consensual or not never having been considered an issue since he'd been cleared of the murder and Grissom had known the two were interested in each other.

"No, no, no," she repeated aloud, trying to force the swirling thoughts to coalesce into something sensible, something she could understand.

"Get that CODIS record off the screen. Don't breathe a word of this to anyone. We've got to get this sorted out before Cavallo hears about it."

Greg immediately exited the database search program, remaining standing with his back to Grissom and Sara, his gloved hand still on the mouse. He wasn't actually doing anything on the computer, but he needed to not look at them just then. He pleaded to wake up from the nightmare he was positive he was having.

"Let's go," Grissom said, guiding Sara by the elbow through the door, back to his office. Grissom felt the need to retreat to a safe, comforting place to mull over the possibilities – and his ever-decreasing number of options.

"Tell me you don't believe this," Sara said quietly as they moved down the hall, looking furtively around to ensure they weren't overhead, even though she'd said nothing revealing.

"I don't _want_ to believe it," Grissom answered, opening his office door for her to pass through.

"You know Nick! He could never do something like that!" Sara said, shaking her head vehemently.

"Sara, we know what Nick has chosen to allow us to know. Nobody really knows anybody. Anybody can have a secret life."

"Maybe _you_ have a secret life, but Nick's not secretive. He's told me about his family, his childhood, lots of stories about his time in college. We're friends," she said with finality, as though that were her crowning argument.

"Have you ever met anyone in his family? Any of his friends? Anyone from college? Anybody can say anything. Doesn't make it true, Sara."

"You're ready to throw him to the wolves!" she shouted, rising from her chair to pace like a newly trapped wild animal.

"I am not! I'm going to do everything in my power to try to find out what's going on. But we have to be rational. Even if you discount the incident here in Vegas ..."

"He was cleared of that!"

"I know! Like I was saying, even if you discount that, we have two samples from two different prostitute murders with exact matches to his DNA. We can't just ignore that!"

"Grissom, you covered for Warrick when his gambling cost Holly Gribbs her life. You covered for Catherine when she got an innocent man killed, when she blew up the lab and hurt Greg, and when she screwed up the case against Sam Braun. You owe the same allegiance to Nick. You may _have_ favorites, but you can't _play_ favorites."

"Sara, I'm going to do what I can, but it's possible that he raped and killed at least two women! You're the one who always empathizes with the victims. What about them?"

"Don't pull that shit on me, Grissom! If Nick's guilty, I'll personally drag him to Death Row by his privates. But until we know that, he's one of us. You may not know him, but I do. And I'm telling you he couldn't do it. There's just no way."

"Proof, Sara. We have physical evidence that links him to both of the women. Find me something that I can use to clear him, and I'll use it."

"Will you help me?" It didn't come out sounding like a simple request. Instead, it had obvious overtones of doubt, and undertones of pain.

"Of course," Grissom answered, furrowing his brow and slightly cocking his head. He wondered when she'd lost all faith in him.

* * *

Nick had arrived back at the lab following Grissom's page to return immediately. He nodded to Greg on his way down the corridor towards Grissom's office, and was a bit concerned and very confused to see Greg wanly smiling as though he was watching a friend hurrying to his own execution.

"You wanted to see me?" Nick asked from the door.

"Yes, Nick. Come in. Close the door."

Nick looked anxiously at Sara, who looked down, unable to maintain eye contact.

"What's up, Grissom?"

"You're working a DB solo. Unidentified female body. You submitted a bloodstained blouse to the DNA lab."

"Yeah ..." Nick said, waiting for the question.

"Tell me about the collection of the evidence."

"Huh?"

"Tell me everything that occurred when you collected the evidence," Grissom repeated a bit gruffly.

"Nothing occurred. I didn't collect it. It was sent over by the morgue."

"Did you touch it?"

"No. Why should I? What's this about, Grissom?"

"Did you cough or sneeze at the crime scene?"

"No! Now what's this about?" Nick was starting to get anxious from what was beginning to sound like an interrogation.

"Grissom!" Greg gasped as he practically burst through the door without knocking.

"Not now, Greg!" Grissom barked.

"No, now! I mean, please. Anyway, believe me, you'll want to know this right now," Greg stammered, waving his hand back towards himself to call Grissom out into the hall.

"What is it?" Grissom asked impatiently as he closed the door to his office.

"Nick's sample? The one you thought might have contaminated yours? It doesn't have his DNA in it. One set of markers – the vic's. That's all."

"Another sample, then?" Grissom asked.

"He hasn't put anything in DNA in a week. All of those have already been processed and none came back with his DNA. It's not from anything he submitted to the lab," Greg said, shaking his head in complete confusion.

"Has he been in your lab today?" Grissom asked. Even a visitor to the DNA lab can inadvertently contaminate evidence if he's not careful.

"No. His sample came from the Medical Examiner, not from him. He hasn't even stopped by to say hello. Besides, if the contamination came from the lab, the control and blank would show his DNA as well. They didn't. Just the sample from the victim."

"Curioser and curioser," Grissom said, absently stroking his beard.

"What do you want me to do?" Greg asked.

"I want you to decontaminate the Analyzer. When you're done, I want you to do another extraction on my evidence. I want to be there for every step."

"Okay," Greg agreed, rushing off to get started. It wasn't a short process, and he was as anxious as anybody to rid himself of the onus of having contaminated a sample.

"Sorry, Nick," Grissom said when he got back into the office. His tone changed slightly, though it still had the edge brought by his annoyance.

"What's going on?" Nick repeated.

"Your DNA turned up on our evidence. We're looking into how it got contaminated. I was thinking that your bloody blouse might have been contaminated, but Greg says it wasn't."

"My DNA?" Nick was perplexed, to say the least.

"Yes. Evidently. But we're going to do another extraction. I'm going to monitor it."

"I'd like to be there."

"That would just provide another possible means of contamination, Nick. It's better if you don't go into the DNA lab until I tell you we're done. It's half-way through the shift, so it will probably be late tomorrow."

"This is too weird," Nick said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"We've got an excellent record. We were bound to have some contamination sooner or later. It's almost a statistical certainty," Grissom said, making this seem more like a random accident that just so happened to pick Nick as its vehicle.

"I'll let you know," Grissom said, finally smiling slightly. "You better get back to your case."

Nick rose and nodded silently, smiling nervously at Sara before plodding off to pick his case back up.

"You didn't mention Dallas to him," Sara said.

"One thing at a time. How about if I chase our Las Vegas rabbit and you chase the Dallas rabbit?" Grissom asked with a smile.

"I like to chase rabbits," Sara answered, returning his smile.

* * *

This time, as Nick passed DNA and met Greg's weak smile again, he understood. Greg shrugged apologetically and Nick shook his head in a "don't worry about it" way that put the tech a bit more at ease.

Grissom was already angry with him. He didn't need to alienate the other CSIs as well. Greg was beginning to feel hurt that Grissom assumed that he was the source of the problem. Even if the DNA Lab did cross-contaminate the sample, that didn't necessarily mean that Greg was the culprit. There is more than one DNA Lab Analyst in Las Vegas.

But Greg was starting to wonder if there wouldn't be one less DNA Analyst in Las Vegas if he wasn't able to isolate the problem. Sure, he'd gone years without a single sample getting contaminated, lost or switched in the lab. How many other techs could say that? Very few. Even the best had the occasional rogue DNA loose in the lab.

Greg had run an emotional gamut this shift. At first he was confused by the results. Then he was apprehensive before telling Grissom. Then he was scared. Now he was angry. He was suspected of negligence, rogue DNA could be loose in his lab, and now he was calling Grissom to watch him do an extraction, like it was his first day at work.

His boss and Sara showed up shortly after his call, both looking anxious, as though they were going to be watching a first test of a procedure that could change the world. Imagine the scientists gathered in Los Alamos, New Mexico, waiting for the first test of an atomic explosion. It could go one of two ways, theoretically: either it would be a fast, orderly, limited chain reaction that would deliver a concentrated burst of energy; or it would ripple out from the source uncontrollably, setting the oxygen in the atmosphere on fire, almost instantly destroying all life on Earth. The wait to find out which would happen was interminable.

Despite the fact that he knew the protocol by heart – after all, he'd written it and followed it for years – Greg took down the book from the shelf and opened it to the tab for DNA extraction from a vaginal swab. With both Grissom and Sara there watching him, he didn't dare make one mistake.

He sprayed the work surface with a bleach solution, wiping it dry with a fresh paper towel, then tossing it in the biohazards container. He donned new gloves and a fresh lab coat. After he was satisfied that he was ready, he pulled the sample from the refrigerator, taking extra care to check the evidence tag against the log, and turning it towards Grissom first, then Sara, for them to read the number.

Both nodded their assent, standing with crossed arms, one on each side of the room – ostensibly to have two different perspectives, but also because at the moment neither felt comfortable standing next to the other.

Greg referred once again to his protocol and gathered his reagents, double-checking the name, concentration, and expiration date on each bottle, again showing them to the two CSIs as though they were a prize in a game show.

"We can see what you're using, Greg. You don't have to stop at every step," Sara said, smiling to try to ease the tech's nerves.

Greg looked over to Grissom, who merely nodded. The tech let out a breath, realizing he'd been holding it.

Greg picked a pair of scissors from the autoclave tray, still wrapped, the band around it showing that it had been sterilized. He opened the wrap, and used the sterile scissors to snip off the tip of the second vaginal swab. There was still three-fourths of the first swab left in the refrigerator, but he'd decided to use the second, just in case the first was the source of the contamination.

Putting a fresh tip on the pipette, he drew up the deionized water that would gently soak the biological sample from the cotton tip. Older, dried samples often were allowed to soak overnight in the refrigerator, but a fresh sample like this would only take about 10 minutes.

Then the Proteinase-K enzyme was added to separate the DNA from the other biological components of the epithelial cells of the vagina. Simply put, it digests the cells into their component parts by breaking down the protein walls that keep them in place.

Timing was critical; if he left it too long, the Proteinase-K would also extract the DNA from the suspected sperm, mixing the two sets of DNA. He then centrifuged the test tube, trapping the sperm at the tip, leaving a clear liquid at the top that he knew to contain the victim's DNA.

He carefully drew off liquid from the top to type the victim's DNA. The sperm pellet at the bottom was washed with water, then another solvent, DTT, was added to break apart the sperm, releasing its DNA into the liquid. After centrifuging, the liquid at the top should contain the suspect's DNA, if indeed the victim was raped and the suspect deposited semen.

Greg spent the next two hours quantifying the amount of DNA in each sample. The DNA analyzer was only accurate with a relatively small range of DNA. Too much or too little, and the results wouldn't be valid.

Once he knew that he had the DNA properly diluted, the next ingredient to be added was primer. It contained short sections of preassembled DNA that would build more DNA in a chain reaction as the sample was alternately heated and cooled. He placed the two samples, plus a control and a blank, in the thermocycler, where the DNA would be warmed until it denatured, or split apart, from a double helix into smaller single-stranded sections.

As the mixture cooled, the DNA would attract the primer to build exactly duplicated sections of DNA. It wasn't necessary to duplicate the entire strand, since approximately 96 of DNA is the same from human to human.

Only certain areas of the chromosomes, called loci, were important enough to duplicate. All forensic labs that used CODIS examined 13 loci, the number and type determined years ago by the FBI, and the amelogenin marker for sex determination.

The FBI chose loci that were highly polymorphic, meaning that they would typically be very easily mutated to give a large variety in the human population. Many loci only have a few variations between large groups of people, such as ethnic groups, but others vary according to much smaller groups, sometimes even down to the family level.

Grissom and Sara pulled out lab stools to sit on, as the mixture cycled over and over, cooling and heating, exponentially growing the amount of DNA to a specific amount.

"How long is this going to take?" Sara asked.

"I'd say about two hours," Greg said with a chipper smile. He'd often had DNA cycling for several hours to create enough copies to analyze. That was called Low Copy Number DNA analysis, and it was difficult to do, and extremely complex to analyze.

Amplifying DNA was like making a photocopy, except that the copy was perfect, and instead of duplicating one at a time, the number doubled with each iteration. Still, millions of copies were required, which took some time.

Greg had hoped that the two would leave and let him relax during the two hours that technology took over the workload, but they sat there virtually mute for the entire time, alternately looking at Greg, each other, and the thermocycler.

"Here we go," Greg said finally, pulling the samples and controls from the thermocycler and inserting them into the DNA Analyzer.

"Now how long?" Sara asked.

"About half an hour per sample," Greg said. "So, we should have the printouts in another two hours."

Sara now felt like she knew what it was like to be waiting on a verdict. Normally, forensic evidence is presented early in trials, so it could be days or weeks until she is told the verdict – she rarely is in a position to be there for it. The only difference here was that she knew the time the verdict was to be returned, but that didn't make the wait any shorter or easier.

This was the last step in the process, and there was nothing Greg or anyone else could do to contaminate the results at this point, so the two CSIs decided to wait it out in Grissom's office, much to Greg's relief.

* * *

"Sara, find out everything you can about the Dallas case, but don't even act like we have a DNA match when you talk to them," Grissom instructed.

"What am I supposed to tell them about why I'm calling?"

"Tell them anything. Tell them you're doing a study, writing a paper. Give them my name if they want some verification."

"Okay. So I'm doing a study on unsolved prostitute murders, I guess," she said, nodding as she stood to leave his office.

"Sara, I know that you and Nick are friends. Do you need for me to get someone else to do this?"

He may have meant the question to be empathetic, but after almost a year of strained relations, Sara had mixed reactions.

"Don't you think I can be objective?"

"None of us can be completely objective here. But, we have to try. I just meant that it might make you uncomfortable to investigate Nick."

"You didn't seem to mind having me investigate Warrick. Twice."

"That was a long time ago, before anyone really knew you."

"Yeah, and it affected my relationship with the team for a long time. I think Catherine still holds it against me."

"Like I said, I can take you off this."

"No. You may not think much of me in other areas, Grissom, but I don't think you could say that I have issues with my integrity. Temper? Yes. Emotional distance from the victims? Yes. Respect for authority? Yes. Honesty, integrity, professionalism? I don't think so. Unless you see it differently."

"No. One thing I could always count on is your integrity. And I don't think poorly of you in other areas. I've got a temper, too. I have authority issues, too. As far as the emotional distancing, it's not that I think that it's wrong to empathize with the victims, as long as you can remain objective. It's just that I don't want to see you get eaten up inside."

"I'm not like you, Grissom. I don't just do this for the science. I do this because of an old-fashioned belief in justice, as corny as that sounds. If I can't care about the victims, then the work is meaningless to me."

"I want you to care, Sara. I just don't want it to hurt you," he said softly, letting the words hang in the air. Gil Grissom, master of the double-entendre.

* * *

One of the beauties of having interns from the local universities was that the CSIs could ask them to run errands, as long as they made it worth the intern's time and efforts. Grissom had no trouble finding a day-shift intern to go pick up their lunches, with the intern's lunch paid for as well.

Grissom, Sara, and Greg didn't discuss that they were well into overtime as they sat eating their sandwiches in Grissom's office; they avoided the break room so that they wouldn't run into too many day-shift people. It wasn't unusual for them to work late, but they typically avoided the other shift's CSIs.

It was unspoken between them that they would stay on Nick's "case" until they got some sort of break. None of the three wanted it to leak before they could get a handle on it. One might think that as long as the three were quiet, the DNA results couldn't get out. But the lab computer automatically stored all test results. The incriminating evidence was on the LIMS computer, and anyone with access could see it, if they looked.

"Okay, where are we?" Grissom asked, wiping his mouth with a brown paper napkin and looking toward Greg.

"Same place we were ten hours ago," Greg answered, taking a tired bite at the corner of his sandwich. This wasn't the Greg that used to alternate between lifting the spirits of the lab and driving its occupants crazy with his offbeat antics.

"Damn! Same results?" Grissom asked, his face falling.

Greg nodded rather than answered.

"Contamination?" Sara asked hopefully.

Greg shook his head back and forth. "The control and blanks came out fine. There's no contamination in the lab. The reagents and equipment are working within specification. The DNA is Nick's," he said with finality.

"I want you to process everything in the rape kit, and every millimeter of her clothes. I want to know if there's any DNA there other than hers or Nick's," Grissom ordered.

"What do I tell the day-shift tech?" Greg asked.

"Tell him you're doing some research project for me. If he happens to see Nick's name, tell him Nick's the control. If he presses, tell him to come talk to me."

"You got it," Greg said, tiredly pushing himself up from the table.

"Okay, what do _you_ have so far?" Grissom asked, turning hopefully to Sara.

"I lucked out. Got a hold of an old-timer, Susie Cass, who happened to be a bit of a gossip," Sara said, smiling as one eyebrow raised.

"She remembered Dee Hawkins -- an intern at the Dallas County Medical Examiner's Office that year. Susie said that Dee was a hard worker, very serious about her job and her studies."

"What about the case?"

"Just a minute. I'll get to that. There's more about Dee. Seems that for a while she dated one of the new CSIs there, a certain Nicky Stokes."

"And?"

"And they evidently had a nasty break-up, at least according to Susie Cass. She never did find out the whole scoop – not that she didn't try."

"That's interesting," Grissom nodded, a glimmer of hope and curiosity in his eyes.

"I thought so. A lot more interesting than the case. They had no leads and no physical evidence other than the vaginal swab. The DNA was the only clue, and they couldn't match it to any of the suspects."

"We may have to tip our hand," Grissom sighed.

"Why?"

"I want someone to re-analyze the Dallas evidence."

"That's assuming they even have any of it left."

"Right. I guess we could call the detective in charge of the case and tell him we have a match to a case here, and we just want to verify that. See if he had any ideas that might help us."

"Uh, no, that's not possible. He's dead."

"I'll get Al to talk to the Medical Examiner. He can have the evidence re-examined."

"I'll check into Dee Hawkins," Sara said, rising.

* * *

"You look like shit," Nick said when he walked into the break room to find Sara slumped in a chair, sipping tiredly at her coffee.

"Thanks. I'm glad to know that I look better than I feel. I guess I'm getting too old to stay up 48 hours at a time."

"Hot case?"

"Yeah, something like that," Sara nodded, dropping her eyes to her cup.

"Murder?"

"Yeah."

"I'm just wrapping mine up. Want some help?"

"No. Grissom's helping me. He'll probably need you guys to cover the rest," Sara answered, hoping her voice didn't give away the emotions she was battling.

"That's cool. Is everything okay? I mean, you two getting along any better?" Nick asked quietly, but hopefully.

"No better, no worse. It's okay. I'm actually getting pretty used to it," she said, a wan smile giving the lie to her words.

"Hey, did you guys ever figure out the deal with my DNA on your evidence?"

"Not yet. Greg's looking into it," Sara answered stiffly, rising suddenly to refill her coffee. She had to set the cup on the counter when she realized that her hands were trembling too badly to safely pour coffee from a shaking carafe into a shaking cup.

"You should catch a nap."

"As Warren Zevon once said, 'I'll sleep when I'm dead'."

"Yeah, but he's dead, isn't he? Probably from lack of sleep."

Warrick walked into the room and looked back and forth between the two, Nick grinning at his joke and Sara tiredly chuckling as she fell back into her chair.

"Damn, girl! I hope the got the license plate of that truck that hit you!" Warrick cracked.

"Yeah, I did. But the driver died on impact. Horrible airbag incident. It wasn't pretty," Sara quipped.

All three looked up as Catherine swept into the room with an air of authority. "Sara, Grissom wants you to meet him in his office ... now. He gave me tonight's assignments for the rest of us."

Sara was glad to be able to leave the room. She found the energy of the three well-rested CSIs to be irritating. But as she trudged down the hall towards Grissom's office, she had to admit to herself that she was already feeling the effects of separation from the team. But even though she was going to be working with him, she didn't feel the connection that would make it worth the sacrifice.

The difference this time was that it was voluntary – Grissom hadn't used her as his own Internal Affairs investigator. If anything, he'd offered to spare her that, and she believed him. She knew that he often didn't say what he might want to, but she'd never known him to say something he didn't mean.

She slumped against the door frame; she'd done it so many times that she almost felt like that strip of metal belonged to her. It was one way that she could safely touch some part of him.

"Hey."

"Hey. Come on in."

"You sleep any?" She could tell by the dark circles under his eyes what the answer was before he shook his head.

"Me neither. What's up?"

"Greg left me all of his DNA results. I just wanted to go over where we are." Grissom said, closing the door and dragging a chair next to Sara's. He turned the lamp around to illuminate the desk in front of them, where he set a folder, flipping it open.

Each of them took a page at a time, meticulously reading each before replacing it, taking the next. Greg had done a thorough job, taking dozens of samples from the victim's clothes, fingernail scrapings, and swabs of bite marks.

Every one showed the same thing: only two sets of DNA. One was the victim's and one was Nick's.

"Damn," Sara exhaled, slumping back in her chair, letting her head fall back until she was staring blindly at the ceiling. She was trying to make sense of the evidence, searching for possibilities, but she was too tired to separate the tangled strands of thought.

Grissom took off his reading glasses, lightly tossing them on top of the offending reports. He joined Sara in her examination of the ceiling, periodically raising his hand to his forehead to rub out the tension. The last thing he needed right now was to set off a migraine.

Greg appeared a half-hour later, lightly knocking on the door. When he got no reply, he gingerly opened it to find Grissom and Sara leaning against each other, sleeping in their chairs. Her head was on his shoulder, and his head was leaned against hers.

"Oh, this is too good. I've got to get a picture. I may die for it, but it'll be worth it!" he said to himself as he practically ran to the locker room to dig his digital camera from his field kit.

He stole back into the office quietly. Fearing that the flash might wake them even though they were facing away from him, he framed his picture carefully, in case he only got one shot.

He slowly squeezed the shutter release, and smiled when they didn't rouse. He was emboldened by his success, and decided to round the desk to attempt to get a shot from the front. He leaned across the desk, propping his elbows, filling the viewfinder with their two unusually peaceful faces, side by side.

He pressed the shutter release and hurriedly sat back in Grissom's chair, sliding the camera into his lab coat pocket. As he'd feared, the flash exploding directly in their faces woke them.

Both were so groggy that they didn't even realize that they'd been propped against each other. They rubbed and blinked tired, crusty eyes, trying to focus on Greg sitting in front of them.

"Wow, I guess I dropped off. I'm sorry, Grissom," Sara said, yawning.

"Me, too," Grissom said, trying to focus on his watch, and seeing that they hadn't been asleep long.

"Hey, guys," Greg said casually. "I've got the report from Dallas. Doc Robbins must have some big-time pull there. They jumped right on it."

"And?" Grissom asked.

"Same as before. Thirteen-marker match to Nick. Last time they ran an RFLP analysis. This time was PCR. But the results were the same."

"Okay, let's accept that the evidence shows Nick's DNA," Grissom began.

"Wait ..." Sara interjected.

"Hang on," he said, raising a hand. "Let's think this through. How else could we get a match _other_ than Nick being the perp?"

"Someone could plant the DNA," Greg offered.

"That much?" Grissom asked. "In more than one crime scene? Several years and more than a thousand miles apart?"

"It's possible," Greg said hopefully.

"And where would they get Nick's semen?" Grissom asked.

"Ew! I don't even want to think about that. But it is possible."

"Discarded condom," Sara guessed. "Maybe someone retrieved a used condom from the trash and preserved the semen."

"Okay. That's a possibility," Grissom agreed. "How else could this happen?"

"Someone could have tampered with the CODIS record from Dallas. We know Dee Hawkins put it in, and she had a run-in with Nick," Sara offered.

"That doesn't explain our DNA hit," Grissom countered.

"Hey, wait a minute. One of your runs was of saliva from a bite mark," Sara said excitedly.

"Yeah," Greg nodded.

"Were there any pictures of bite marks from the Dallas case?" Sara asked, pulling the file from Greg's hands and flipping through it quickly. "There," she said, pointing at a photo. "You know any forensic odontologists?" she asked Grissom, smiling.

"I might know one or two," he said, also smiling hopefully. "We need a cast from Nick. I guess it's time to fill him in," he added, his tone turning serious.

"I'll do it," Sara volunteered. She hoped that her friendly relationship with Nick hadn't been too strained lately with the competition for the Lead CSI position. They'd tried to keep it strictly professional, but they both noticed that the friendly banter they were accustomed to had taken on an edge.

"No, I'll do it," Grissom said. "I'm the lead on this case, and it's my responsibility. I don't want it to look like ... uh, look like ..."

"A vendetta?" Sara supplied.

"Not exactly," he said, smiling wanly.

"Grissom, it wasn't like that between Nick and me. We weren't fighting over the promotion. It was a friendly competition. He won the first round, but the fight was cancelled when the position evaporated."

"Greg, will you excuse us?"

Looking between the two, Greg left the room, closing the door behind him

"Sara, did you know that I recommended Nick for the promotion?" Grissom asked after a pregnant pause.

"I wasn't really surprised," she answered heavily.

"That's why I need to do this," he said, opting not to explain his decision right now.

Sara was already dead-tired, and Grissom's revelation seemed to rob her of what little steam she had left.

"Mind if I rest while you're doing it? I'm too tired to think rationally. This case is too important to make a stupid mistake just because I'm tired," she said.

"Sara, I ..." Grissom started, pausing when all the words left his normally ample vocabulary.

"No, Grissom, not right now. I don't want to get into it. Let's just focus on Nick's problem. I don't want to go into the other thing right now. You had your reasons, and that's good enough. After it's all over and we've cleared Nick, if you still feel the need, you can tell me why."

"Okay," he breathed out, relieved, yet feeling like it was yet another unspoken, unexplored issue between them, separating them. But what was one more brick in a wall already almost too high for him to scale?

* * *

"Give it to me straight, Grissom. Do I need to be getting worried?" Nick asked. He was standing with his arms crossed, the veins and muscles bulging in his forearms. His jaw was set squarely, making him look more like he was staring down a bully than talking to his supervisor.

"I don't know that you need to be worried quite yet, but this _is_ serious. We have to walk a fine line between doing everything by the book, and doing it under the radar."

"You don't honestly believe ..." Nick started, the frustration showing in the volume of his voice.

"No, no," Grissom said, holding up both hands. "Of course not. Our theory is that someone is framing you. Sara had an idea on how to clear you."

"And that is?" Nick asked hopefully.

"We compare a dental impression from you with the bite marks on the victims. We'll have an forensic odontologist do the comparison so that no one can argue with the results." Grissom didn't have to clarify for Nick that it also left him no room to argue, if the odontologist declared a match.

"Let's do it," Nick said vehemently. "The sooner we get this over with, the better. I didn't do anything wrong."

Grissom spread the molding compound in the biteplates, holding them out for Nick to take into his mouth, pressing down firmly. As they waited a few moments for the compound to stiffen, Grissom took advantage of Nick's inability to respond.

"Nick, I need for you to lay low for a little while. Take some vacation time. But don't leave Clark County," he warned.

Nick's eyes grew wider, straining to convey the thoughts he was unable to verbalize.

Again Grissom held up a hand. "Nick, if anyone else finds out about this, and I've let you stay active at the lab, not only will you be in trouble, but so will Sara, Greg and I. Give us some time to work without that threat hanging over our heads."

Nick exhaled heavily through his nose, casting his eyes down in a primal show of submission.

"Good. I'm glad you understand. Believe me, Sara, Greg and I will be working this as hard as we can." Grissom held the biteplates still, nodding to Nick that he could release the molds.

Nick instinctively licked his lips and along his teeth, nodding to Grissom silently.

Grissom reached across and set a hand on the younger CSI's shoulder, causing him to look up unsurely. Grissom gave a small, encouraging smile.

"Thanks, Grissom," Nick breathed out as he turned and walked quickly down the hall to the locker room to gather his belongings.

* * *

"Talk to me, Gil," Catherine said from the doorway.

"I'm tired of talking," he huffed. "I'm tired of thinking. If I don't sleep soon, I'll be tired of even breathing."

"Nick's gathering his stuff from the locker room. What's going on?"

"Nothing. He's just taking some time off," Grissom answered evasively.

"Kinda sudden, isn't it?"

"So? He's got the time coming to him," Grissom said, shrugging.

"He's in the middle of a murder investigation," Catherine answered, screwing up her face in blatant disbelief.

"Yeah, I need for you or Warrick to take that over," Grissom said matter-of-factly.

"Why can't you or Sara do it?" she challenged.

"Because we're busy."

"On what?"

"Are you my boss now?" Grissom asked, beginning to become annoyed at Catherine.

"I'd shoot myself," Catherine snorted. "Okay, let me get this straight. You and Sara are too busy on God-knows-what to help with the cases. Nick's on vacation, suddenly and for an indeterminate amount of time. Either Warrick or I take over the murder investigation. That leaves precisely one CSI to handle all the other cases. Have I got the full picture?"

"Pretty much," Grissom nodded.

"Can we use Greg?" Catherine asked hopefully.

"No. He's helping me and Sara," Grissom answered, shaking his head.

"What the hell are you working on that takes three of you, a mass murder? Homeland security? Finding the answer to world hunger?"

"It's not your concern. I'm still the supervisor, and I've determined that at this point this is the appropriate use of our resources. If that's not good enough for you, file a complaint with the Lab Director. I'm sure Cavallo would be thrilled to get one on me."

"You don't have to be so snippy," Catherine barked as she plopped down in the chair across from him, dashing all of his hopes that she'd give up and leave him to his miasma of thoughts.

Grissom looked across the desk at her, his face expressionless.

"You know you'll tell me sooner or later. You might as well do it now. Maybe I can help."

"I have all the help I need," he answered.

"Well, maybe it would help me to carry the rest of the load if I knew why."

"Trust me, you'd approve," he offered.

"Tell me then. If you're so sure I'd approve, what's the harm?"

"You can be very exasperating, you know that?" Grissom breathed out sharply.

"Really? I had no idea," she said, curling the fingertips of her right hand around as if to casually inspect her nails.

"Don't you have a murder case to attend to?"

"Oh! You're right!" she said, standing abruptly, as though she'd forgotten all about it. "I guess I should talk to Nick before he starts this sudden vacation, and get up to speed," she said, turning to grin evilly at Grissom.

"Sit down," Grissom said in defeat.

"I don't know, Gil, I'm pretty busy, what with covering the entire caseload and all," she said facetiously.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "I can't tell you how often I thank God that we're not married."

"You and me, both," she laughed.

"I'm not going to go into details," he warned. "But some disturbing evidence has surfaced that implicates Nick in at least two crimes."

"That's ridiculous!" Catherine snapped.

"Of course it is! That's why Sara, Greg and I are working on it. We're trying to get it taken care of before anyone else gets wind of it. Now do you see why I have to leave everything else to you and Warrick?"

"Why can't Nick work cases that aren't related?"

"It's risky enough that half the team is working his case. If this gets out, and he's still working cases, it's over for us."

"If it gets out, the shit's going to hit the fan either way," Catherine said pensively.

"All the more reason why we have to find out what's going on, and fast."

"Why don't you let me help you, and put Greg with Warrick? You, me and Sara have the best solve rates. Let's triple-team this thing and hit it hard," she offered.

"I can't take Greg off of it," Grissom demurred. "In a way, he's the one who discovered it. I've got to let him see it through to the end."

"I guess it's just as well," she agreed. "It would hardly be fair to Warrick to saddle him with a murder, all the new cases, and a green trainee."

"That was one of my reasons as well," Grissom agreed.

"Okay, you're probably not going to react well to this," Catherine warned.

Grissom visibly slumped in his chair.

"I think you should put Sara with Warrick on the other cases, and let me take her place on this one."

"Why? She's already off and running with it."

"Let's just say that I might be able to be more objective," Catherine answered cagily.

"I haven't noticed Sara being particularly emotional about the case," Grissom said, his face pinched in thought.

"That's not exactly what I mean," Catherine said, shaking her head.

"Then what – exactly – do you mean?" he barked, becoming tired of what was becoming a waste of precious time.

"I mean, looking at what little you've seen fit to tell me, someone has implicated Nick in two crimes, using what I assume to be forensic evidence, if Greg came across it in the lab."

"And?"

"And that would take someone with some knowledge of forensics, wouldn't it?"

"Not necessarily. But it's possible," Grissom said, still lost.

"Gil, for an incredibly smart guy, you can be hard to get through to sometimes. Come on, what if it's someone at the lab doing it?"

"Like who? And what does that have to do with Sara working the case?" he asked in frustration.

"Like anybody! Like that psycho Hodges. Or maybe one of the other guys was interested in some girl that Nick started dating. Or maybe ..." she said, pausing.

"Maybe what?"

"Or maybe it was someone who had a grudge against him ... a professional grudge."

Grissom stared at his old friend in muted shock as her implication began to coalesce in his mind. "Hell, Catherine! How can you even think such a thing?" he said, standing abruptly, turning about as though looking for a place to retreat, but finding none.

"I didn't say that's what I believe. I just mean that it's a possibility, even if it's remote. But you can't afford to overlook anything. I don't have any agenda with Nick. Never have. We're not buddies, not enemies, we were never lovers, we have never competed for anything. Just co-workers, plain and simple."

"And just how would I explain that to Sara?" Grissom asked.

"Since when do you explain yourself to Sara? Just tell her that you need her to cover the other cases. Or tell her that it's a totally random whim. It doesn't matter what you tell her. You're the boss, not her."

"I think I may have already played that card one too many times," Grissom admitted. "And besides, by your reasoning, it could just as easily be Greg. He found the evidence. He's bucking for a CSI job, but there're no current openings."

"Greg doesn't have the killer instinct necessary to do that," Catherine answered, shaking her head.

"And you think Sara does?"

"I wouldn't have before, but she's changed over the last year or so. She's sullen and withdrawn. She's borderline insubordinate. I don't know, it's like she's become cynical and bitter about something. I could hazard a guess ..."

"Don't," Grissom warned.

"Just don't rule anything or anyone out," Catherine warned, finally standing to leave.

"I won't," Grissom assured her. "But if it's someone we've all worked with, someone we've trusted, well then, I think I'll just pack it in."

"Well, let's not worry about that yet," Catherine advised. "You three just go do what you have to do. Warrick and I will take care of business."

"Thanks, Cath."

"I might have to tell Warrick, but that's as far as it'll go," she said, leaning back in the door.

"Nick'll probably tell him anyway," Grissom said, beginning to sense the difficulty in keeping this a secret.

"I'm heading out. You going to get some rest soon? You can't do Nicky any good if you're exhausted. Don't push yourself like you did on the Lurie case. You were wasted for days after that."

"I remember," Grissom said heavily. Looking up at Catherine, he hoped she didn't know why the case affected him so much, but he was fairly sure she did. "I've got to get some evidence over to a consultant, then I'll be heading home."

As Grissom stood, gathering up the evidence envelope that held Nick's dental impressions, Catherine smiled at him sympathetically.

"Hey, I know that we give you a hard time and tease you about not being a good supervisor. But where it really counts, in caring about your work and your people, you're the best. I just wanted you to know that."

"Thanks, Cath." Though he normally didn't care much about what people thought of his administrative skills, or even his social skills, at this moment it was meaningful to him that one of the people who knew him best both personally and professionally could see that he always tried to protect them.

* * *

Each of them leaned back into the couch, twisting the caps off of the cold beer Sara had brought over, taking long swigs.

"Man, I wish I knew what was going on," Nick finally said.

"Me, too," Sara agreed.

"Are y'all sure it's not just contamination?" he asked.

"I really can't talk much about it, Nick," Sara said dejectedly. "But it's not contamination. The blanks tested clean, and you didn't have any contact with the evidence."

"I don't get it," he countered, shaking his head.

"There's more," Sara shared reluctantly, picking absently at the paper label on the beer bottle.

"What now?" Nick demanded, sitting upright, turning to look at her.

"Another case. I can't tell you any more than that," she said, shaking her head.

"Damn! What the hell is going on here? It's like the Twilight Zone."

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out. I promise you that, Nick."

"I need to know something, Sar. You got my back?" The look of mixed hope and fear on Nick's face was enough to break Sara's heart.

"All the way," she said, leaning over to give him a hug.

"You ever watch _Psychic Detectives_?" Nick asked, changing the subject as he pointed the remote at the television.

"Do you?" Sara asked back.

"I asked first."

"I might have caught an episode ... or two," she said, shrugging innocently.

"Me, too," Nick said, smiling.

"But I'd rather rely on science," Sara added quickly.

"Sure. But if all else fails, I don't see where it would hurt to call a psychic."

"As long as it doesn't take you off on some wild goose chase while you still have forensic leads, I guess I'd agree."

The two friends grabbed another round of beers and settled back into the couch to watch the last night's episodes of _Forensics Files_ and _Psychic Detectives_ that Nick had recorded on his TiVO.

Nick tried to forget about the sword hanging over his head, and instead focused on the simple pleasure of spending downtime with a good friend. He was happy that they were able to recapture the comfortable feeling of their old relationship, before all the trials and tribulations of the past year or so. They had allowed life and work to ease them apart, and it felt good to get back together, regardless of the circumstances.

Nick smiled, the creases and dimples appearing deeply in his cheeks, as he realized that regardless of their competition and a few spats along the way, Sara was a loyal friend. He could think of no one he'd rather have on his side, whether it was a simple game of softball or the defense of his innocence. He knew that, regardless of the activity, Sara Sidle would apply every cell of her body to the task.

* * *

Grissom swung by Nick's apartment on the way to the odontologist. He was going to stop by to check in on him, to make sure he knew that he wasn't being sent away in disgrace. Grissom felt that Nick was more self-conscious than most of his employees, and he didn't want the young man to brood or to think that Grissom didn't support him.

Seeing Sara's car there didn't entirely surprise him. He knew that Sara, Warrick and Nick had been friends for years. If anything, he was surprised Warrick's car wasn't there, though Sara might have picked him up on the way.

Grissom decided to leave them alone in their camaraderie, and drove on to deliver the dental molds to the odontologist. Once there, he knew he should leave them and have the expert call when his analysis was complete, but Grissom decided to wait.

The dental expert had known Grissom for years, and wasn't surprised that he didn't leave, so he directed him to the small break room down the hall of the office building. Grissom made a fresh pot of coffee and sat down to wait.

A few hours later, his friend returned, his expression difficult for Grissom to read.

"So?" Grissom asked, standing when his anxiety made it impossible to continue sitting.

"Might be. Might not be. There's really nothing extraordinary about the dental mold you gave me or the pictures of the bitemarks. The person or persons were either born with straight teeth, or had braces. Either way, there's little that jumps out as a clear identifier. And the pictures don't have enough definition to be able to call it either way. There's more bruising than laceration. Unless there's an anomaly, it's hard to identify teeth from such a shallow bite."

"Thanks anyway, Doc," Grissom said. "Send me your report when it's done."

"Will do. And I'll look at it all again, Gil. Maybe I missed something. You never know," the odontologist said, shrugging.

"I doubt that, but I hope so," Grissom said as he poured out his coffee and left.

It was late in the afternoon, a time that night-shift workers are normally asleep. He passed by Nick's apartment again, only to see Sara's car still there.

"What the hell's she still doing here?" Grissom asked aloud, feeling oddly annoyed. He unconsciously pressed back down on the accelerator, anxious to get away. His anger made him at once both tired and energized, and he decided to go back to the lab instead of going home.

He couldn't stand the thought of going home to an empty townhouse and an empty bed, knowing she was probably sleeping at Nick's house.

* * *

"She lives!" Nick chirped brightly as Sara dragged into the kitchen to pour herself some coffee. He was cooking them some breakfast, but Sara pushed back the plate of scrambled eggs, moaning her stomach's complaints.

"You need to learn to hold your liquor better," Nick teased.

"I'm working on it. Takes practice," Sara said, her voice gravelly. "But I'm not one to back away from a challenge."

"Eat something. You'll feel better," he said, shoving the plate back in front of her before picking up his own, merrily shoveling eggs into his mouth.

"Can't feel much worse," she said, picking at the food, putting small bits at a time in her mouth. "Hey, thanks for letting me crash here today. I guess I was more tired than I thought."

"No problem."

"You didn't have to give up your bed, though. I could have slept on the couch," she said.

"We already had this argument earlier today. And I told you then, I sleep on the couch a lot. I don't mind at all. Do I look like I didn't get good rest?" he asked too cheerily for Sara to be able to look at.

"No, you look disgustingly refreshed. I, on the other hand, look like shit."

"You don't look any different to me," Nick said without forethought.

"Gee, thanks. Glad to hear I always look this bad," Sara grumbled.

"That's not what I mean, girl, and you know it," he chided. "But it wouldn't hurt you to start taking better care of yourself. You don't rest enough and you don't eat enough."

"You don't look much like my mother, but you're starting to sound like her," Sara said sarcastically.

"Then she must care about you."

"Yeah, well, that's the theory," Sara said, pushing up from the breakfast bar to find her shoes and her purse. "Gotta run. I need to get cleaned up and get into work. I'm working on the most important case of my life."

"I couldn't be in better hands," Nick said sincerely.

"We're all on your side, Nick. We'll find out who's behind this, I promise."

"I know. I'd hate to be the poor sucker with a mad Sara Sidle on his trail!"

"Maybe not 'his'. Maybe 'her'."

"Huh?"

"Maybe it's a woman. Maybe a past girlfriend who's not coping well to life without the incomparable Nick Stokes," Sara said, forcing a smile.

"Hey, I don't know what you've heard, but I'm not the player they make me out to be," Nick said a little defensively.

"No, but it's possible, right? Can you think of anybody? Maybe someone you broke up with that didn't take it well?"

"Heck, I haven't been that serious about anyone in years. I never have the time."

"How 'bout from Dallas?"

"Dallas?" Nick said, shaking his head in confusion.

"Yeah. Anyone you dated in Dallas that maybe didn't take too well to breaking up?"

"Damn, that was a long time ago. I can't really remember anything going all that badly."

"Maybe someone at work?"

"Sara, I feel like I'm being herded into a pen, blindfolded. Why don't you just ask straight out whatever it is you want to know?"

"I can't, Nick. I gotta treat you like any other suspect while I'm asking questions."

"You know how wrong that sounds?"

"Yeah, to me, too, but just answer the questions. Volunteer information. Maybe you'll hit on what I need to know."

"Okay. What was the question again?"

"Any pissed off ex-girlfriends in Dallas? Maybe someone from work?"

"Let's see. I only dated a few girls when I moved back to Dallas. I dated a girl I'd gone to high school with while I was a cop."

"You were a cop? How come I didn't know that?"

"It was just for a little while. I'd sometimes be guarding a scene while the CSIs were there, and I realized I was more interested in what they were doing than being a policeman. I already had a bachelor's of science from A&M, so they let me transfer to the Investigations Division."

"Cool. What about the girl?"

"Oh, she was this girl I'd known for years. We'd been friends a long time. We dated a little, but we were better friends than lovers. It was about like what it would be if you and I dated."

"Ew."

"Thanks. That crashing sound was my delicate male ego."

"Yeah, whatever. So she wasn't pissed?"

"Nah. We stayed friends after that. Oh, wait!"

"Yeah?"

"There was this one girl at work. We dated several months, but we didn't really go out that often."

"Too much information, Nick."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Sidle. No, I mean that our schedules just wouldn't mesh. We were on the same shift, so we rarely had off the same days."

"And?"

"And she got really pissy about it. Like we were super-serious and I had just ditched her. Plus, I think she was professionally jealous."

"How?"

"I made CSI before she did. She was an intern and put in for the opening that I was given when I transferred. My position was probationary for a while after the transfer, but then I was made a permanent employee."

"And she didn't like that?"

"Like I said, she had wanted the job. She'd been working there while she was going to school, and she figured she had a good shot at the job. She acted like I had stolen it from her."

"And what was this girl's name?"

"Dee something. Let me think. Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah: Hawkings or Hawkins. Something like that."

"Tell me about her," Sara said, trying to sound nonchalant as she eased herself onto a stool at the breakfast bar.

"Not much to tell, really. It's not like I knew her all that long or all that well. She was pretty, but in a down-to-Earth way, not in a supermodel way. She was really, really smart. Very serious at school and work."

Looking over at his friend and allowing a broad grin to cleave his face, he summarized, "Not a lot different from you, in a lot of ways."

"But she didn't take kindly to the break-up, I gather?"

"Right. That's where the two of you differ the most. You're the type to deal with your personal emotions on the inside. She was more ... outspoken."

"Can we stop using me as the basis of comparison? I'm too hungover for that level of self-examination," Sara said jokingly, yet in all seriousness.

"I'm just trying to give you a better understanding through example," Nick said, teasing her.

"I get it: she was driven in every area, including her relationships."

"When you put it that way, the difference between you begins to blur," Nick hazarded, subconsciously leaning away from her, moving out of striking distance.

"Don't go there," she warned.

"I didn't," Nick said, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "You made the statement; not me."

"Nick ..." she breathed out before catching herself. Sometimes she wanted to unburden herself to someone. She felt like she'd been holding in all the accumulated emotions from the rollercoaster relationship she'd had with Grissom. At times, she felt like she might be able to put it behind her if she could just purge herself.

Of all of her friends, Nick was the most likely to eventually hear her confession of love found and love lost. He'd always been decent to her, knew only too well how Grissom could treat people who cared about him, and wouldn't judge her too harshly for her foolishness.

She felt close to the point where something would have to give, but this wasn't the time. A wave of guilt washed over her, as she momentarily felt selfish. Nick was in a life-and-death crisis, and yet she briefly felt the need to focus on her own problems.

"What?" he asked when she didn't continue her sentence.

"Nothing. I've got to go. I just wanted to say again that I believe you and that I'm behind you."

"Thanks."

"But you know I've got to do my job, right?"

"I know. But that's not going to be an issue, Sar, I swear," Nick said.

"I know, Nicky. If I thought you were even capable of these things, I'd kill you myself, just to put you out of your misery," she said metaphorically. Sara had never been in a position to have to choose whether to take a life. She knew didn't believe in it morally, but she recognized that one day she might have to do it, when it became the lesser of two evils.

"There is no way I'd ever commit a crime in a town where you were one of the CSIs," he said. "My momma didn't raise no fools."

* * *

"We struck out on the bitemarks," Grissom said without looking at Sara as their paths converged in the hallway of the lab.

"Damn. I was so hoping ..."

"What about you? Did you find time to fit in investigating this Hawkins woman?" he asked almost curtly.

Sara looked at him in curiosity. _Now what have I done?_

"Does anyone in your family have bipolar disorder?" Sara asked, inadvertently blurting out the question rattling around in her mind.

Grissom stopped suddenly, turning towards her. "What?"

"Never mind," she mumbled, walking on.

"No, tell me what you asked. I must not have understood you, because it didn't make any sense," he said, catching up to her.

"I just asked if anyone in your family has bipolar disorder," she repeated.

"Not that I'm aware. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," she said, turning abruptly into Greg's lab, hoping Grissom continued on towards his office.

Though he was sorely tempted to follow her in to ask what the last few seconds meant, he certainly didn't want to do it in front of Greg. And it would be just as suspicious and embarrassing to send him from his own lab, or pull Sara out.

"Thank God," she mumbled as she settled in next to Greg, watching Grissom's back recede down the hall.

"Oh, and here I thought you came in because you couldn't stand being separated from me. Now I find out that you just came in here to find sanctuary from our fearless leader."

"Someone needs to throw a net over him and spend decades studying him," she said, shaking her head.

"He is ... unique," Greg agreed.

"All part of God's plan, I'm sure," Sara said, almost thankfully. "I'm not sure the world could take too many more like him."

"Trouble in Paradise?"

"Yeah, that's my life, Greggo. Paradise. I'm just loving life."

"Ooh, bitter and cynical. If you don't like your life, maybe you need to change it."

"You have an amazing grasp of the obvious, Greg."

"Let it go, Sara. It's just not meant to be," he said kindly though enigmatically.

"I'm trying. I really am," she said quietly, still staring at the hallway, bustling with activity, but seeing no one and nothing other than the vacuum left by Grissom's absence.

"Maybe I could help," he offered, grinning.

"Are you hitting on me?" she asked, turning to match his grin.

"Would it work?"

"Not in this lifetime," she answered.

"Then, no, of course I wasn't hitting on you. I meant that strictly as a friend," he said.

"That's what I figured," she said, laughing lightly, though she felt anything but happy.

"Could you clarifying something for those of us in the lab who are amelogenin-challenged?"

Sara chuckled at Greg's offbeat reference to the DNA locus used to identify the gender of the sample donor. The amelogenin locus does not actually determine sex. Strangely, it's a gene that has to do with tooth pulp formation. But since it differs between men and women, it's normally an easy locus to use to determine gender.

"I can try."

"Okay. We're just wondering what it is about Grissom."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, there are two fly women on our shift, and you both hover around him. Cath's his best friend, and you ... well, never mind."

"Wise choice."

"When we go to scenes, all the women seem to flirt with him. What are the rest of us guys, chopped liver? I mean, I guess he's okay for an older guy, but we still don't get it."

"Be specific," Sara said, not wanting to allow herself the luxury of waxing on Grissom's virtues. At the moment, she wasn't sure she could.

"Okay. He's older than us. Past his prime, probably, if you know what I mean."

"I hope I don't, but go on."

"He's not all that nice, most of the time. He doesn't pay attention to people – even people who care about him."

Sara tipped her head in acknowledgement.

"He's not rich. He's not what you'd call generous. He's moody. He rarely, if ever, takes up any of these women on their ... offers, so to speak."

"And your actual question is?"

"What's he got that we ain't got?" Greg asked simply.

"I couldn't answer that, Greg. Maybe it's his unavailability. Maybe it's his lack of sophistication when it comes to women. Maybe it's just the challenge of being the one to finally crack him."

"The thrill of the hunt? That sounds more like a guy thing."

"Not the hunt, per se. Maybe it's more of a female nurturing thing. God, I'm not sure I really want to think this through, much less talk about it ... especially with you," she said, looking at him pointedly, hoping he'd drop it.

"You're in too deep to pull out now ... no pun intended," he added, grinning.

"I'm going to leave if you don't stop with the sexual innuendo. It could be construed as sexual harassment," she said, not serious about the implied threat, but hopeful that it would end the conversation.

"Fine. Be that way. But you still have to tell me what Grissom's attraction is. Is he wearing pheromones? Is there some rumor going around that he's anatomically gifted? Which would be blatantly false, I might add."

"You did not just say that."

"Yes, I did."

"I'm becoming very sorry that I didn't just stay with Grissom instead of ducking in here. I came in to escape, and find that I'm in a worse trap."

"Inquiring minds want to know."

"I don't know the answer, Greg. If I did, I'd know ..."

"How to stop it?" he asked, finishing her thought.

"I've got work to do," she said firmly, getting up from the lab stool.

"What can I do to help?" Greg asked, turning serious.

"Let's go ask Super Fly."

* * *

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I have located Dee Hawkins. I spoke to her earlier today," Sara said in answer to Grissom's question.

"And?"

"She acted like she didn't even remember Nick at first. After we talked a while, she seemed to get her memory back."

"You didn't believe her?"

"I'm not saying that. Either Susie Cass was wrong, and the thing between Nick and Dee wasn't that big of a deal, or Dee's lying."

"Perhaps you'd be so kind as to start at the beginning," Grissom said coolly, causing Greg's eyes to shift nervously between the two.

Sara straightened her often-poor posture. "Fine. I located Dee Hawkins in Los Angeles. She's in the Computer Forensics department of their crime lab. She reports that she and Nick dated a few times, but were never serious in their relationship. She didn't indicate that there was any animosity, then or now."

"Computer Forensics. That's interesting," Grissom said, his voice trailing as his mind retreated in thought. "What did you tell her?" he asked, sounding as though he half-expected Sara to have forgotten the sensitive nature of the investigation.

"I told her that I was doing a background check for a promotion. I asked questions regarding his professionalism and the like first. Then I made it seem like we were just chatting. You know, girl talk."

"Hm."

"I asked her how well she knew him, and she volunteered the rest. She's either pretty cagey, or she really has nothing to hide."

"Or you didn't ask the right questions."

Tension rippled through her body like an electric shock, and Greg found himself watching her, wondering how she'd react. Unfortunately, he would never find out.

"Would you please excuse us a moment, Greg?" Sara asked, smiling at Greg, though there was no warmth in it.

Greg looked to Grissom for confirmation that he was dismissed, almost disappointed to see the single nod of their boss's head.

Closing the door, she turned abruptly. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Grissom asked, innocently.

"You've been snapping at me all evening. Everything was fine when I left here. Just exactly what have you decided I did wrong in the meantime?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Grissom said, suddenly shuffling through papers on his desk, though it was evident that he had no real interest in them.

"Yes, you do. I've been a CSI for over ten years. Other than you, I have the most education. Unless I'm wrong, I have a pretty good solve rate."

"What's your point?"

"My point is that you're suddenly treating me like I've done something wrong. You're talking to me like I'm stupid. I think that I'm capable of a simple phone interview."

"I'm just exploring the possibilities," he said dismissively.

"No, you're pissed about something, but you won't show me the courtesy of telling me what it's about. If it was just personal, I'd understand. But it's been professional lately. It's your job as supervisor to tell me how I'm not meeting your expectations."

"You meet my expectations."

"That's a pretty broad statement. A lot depends on what you expect, now, doesn't it?"

Grissom shrugged a weak agreement.

"Not this time, Grissom. I'm not walking away this time. We're going to settle this, once and for all," she said with unaccustomed conviction.

"Settle what?"

"You know what. What do you want from me? What will make you quit treating me like this? You want me to apologize for asking you out? – almost a year ago, I might add. Okay, I'm sorry. It was inappropriate, and I apologize. Take it as a compliment, and then forget about it. It'll never happen again. Let's just move on."

"You think I'm that petty?"

"I don't know what to think. I can't imagine what else I've done that's so wrong."

"Where were you today?" he asked abruptly.

"Huh?"

"Where were you? Did you go home after work?"

"And that's your business how?"

"Is there some reason you're not willing to answer the question?"

"Yeah. Because it's none of your business what I do on my own time. You've made it perfectly clear that you don't want anything to do with me apart from work. Hell, you don't want anything to do with me _at_ work."

"Do you think it's appropriate for you to be part of this investigation?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Sara asked in confusion.

"If you're involved in a personal relationship with Nick, you could easily compromise the results."

Sara looked at him blankly, her mind a thick fog. Slowly, it began to clear.

"I am a friend and co-worker of Nick's. Nothing more," she said firmly.

"Really?" he asked, his tone obviously contentious.

"Really."

"I've never had a co-worker sleep at my house," he said, looking down at a file that he'd flipped open.

"Are you stalking one of us now?" she asked, chuckling in disbelief.

"I was going to drop by Nick's home to offer my support," Grissom answered coolly.

"Yeah, that's what I was doing, too."

"All day?"

"No, I slept for a few hours."

"So I gathered."

"What do you care?" Sara asked, incredulous.

"I don't think it's appropriate for you to behave in this manner with the subject of a murder investigation."

"Speaking from experience, are you?"

Grissom looked up at her sharply.

"I don't want the investigation to suffer from your lack of discretion."

Sara laughed. "If I were in a relationship with Nick, you'd never know I'd been there. I'm not some bimbo off the street. I'm a trained investigator. I'd hide every clue. A relationship would be the last thing you'd suspect."

"Sometimes things are best hidden in plain sight," he countered.

"Believe what you want to. You've didn't believe me before, so why should you now?"

"I was right about Hank."

"No, you weren't. At the time, I wasn't in a relationship. It developed later."

"Maybe I just recognized it before you did."

"Whatever, Grissom. I'm not going to argue about my love life with you. The point is, I'm not in a romantic relationship with Nick, so I'm not compromising the investigation. However, feel free to replace me. You've done it for less cause," she said, her voice sharp with renewed resentment.

"I don't have to justify my supervisory decisions to you."

"Cool. We have an understanding then. You don't explain yourself to me, and I don't explain myself to you. You're the boss-man. I just work here. Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

Grissom exhaled loudly, wondering how she could make him feel such attraction and such exasperation at the same time. For a brief moment, he wondered what it would be like to be loved by such a woman. He forced himself to put such thoughts out of his mind – all they did was confuse him.

"Get a sample of Nick's DNA," he said without preamble.

"From Compliance?" she asked, confused.

"No. A fresh sample."

"Why?"

"When testing any hypothesis or procedure, one retests _all_ the variables, correct? We've retested the DNA on our evidence. The Dallas ME has retested the DNA from their case. But we haven't retested Nick."

"Well, it's not like his DNA's going to change," she said, not following him.

"No, but it's still a variable, so it still needs to be validated."

"Okay. If it's not too insubordinate, may I ask what you'll be doing?"

"You and Greg work on Nick's DNA. I'll help out on the rest of the caseload tonight. Tomorrow, I'm going to UNLV to find a computer expert."

"For?"

"The other untested variable," he answered, looking up at her without expression. It was obvious that the conversation was over. Sara nodded and left, gathering Greg on her way out.

_If I didn't know better, I'd swear Grissom's jealous. Nah. Couldn't be. But what else could it be? He can't really think I'd compromise the investigation and put Nick's life in danger. If I was seeing Nick, why would I do that? None of this makes any sense unless the answer is that he's pissed to think that I'm dating Nick. Which doesn't make any sense either. No one in the world can confuse me like Grissom._

* * *

"Yeah, sure. It can be done pretty easily. Well, pretty easily if you're a halfway decent hacker, that is."

"Both systems?"

"Sure. The theory's the same. First, you need to find a way in. Now, a lot of networks have a way to remote in from offsite. Yours probably does, too. Can you work from home?"

"Yes."

"Someone could log in that way, but it doesn't show any real ingenuity, and the access is probably going to be logged. Instead, they could send an email with an executable file that gives them access, hiding their log-in information. Sort of a Trojan Horse."

"Dr. Simms ..."

"Call me Cody. I'm not one to stand on ceremony or credentials. Besides, we're peers, right, Dr. Grissom?"

"Gil."

"Cool. Okay, Gil, what's your question?" The young computer security professor reminded Gil of himself in ways. He was passionate about his field, and excited to be able to share it in a useful way with someone from outside his usual circle.

"Before we go much further, if this turns out to be what happened, you know you'll probably be subpoenaed for trial as an expert witness. That okay?"

"Cool! Do I have to wear a suit though? I don't think I have one."

"No, but I wouldn't show up in jeans and a t-shirt either. If the time comes and you don't have anything appropriate to wear, we'll address that then."

"Okay. That's cool."

"Could our IT department tell if this has happened?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on how good the hacker was. If he – most hackers are young white males – changed a record, they could probably tell that. But they may not be able to tell how he gained access. You might need a computer forensics expert to find that."

"Could you do that, if necessary?"

"Sure! My two favorite things to do are a legally sanctioned hack, or finding where someone illegally hacked. That way I can get all the thrill of hacking, without risking prison!"

"Best of both worlds," Grissom said.

"You got it. I like to have my fun, but I'm one of those people who really is deterred by the idea of prison. I don't think I could stand it."

"If only everyone were like that ..." Grissom said, leaving the thought to hang. Of course, if everyone were like that, he wouldn't have the job he had. His was a career based on the misery of others, like doctors, cops, firemen, and undertakers, to name a few. Some thought them ghouls; others thought them heroes.

* * *

"Sweet!" Sara yipped. Without thinking, she and Greg grasped each others upper arms and bounced around like children at Christmas, making hooting noises and laughing.

"Am I interrupting something?" Grissom asked sternly as he entered the lab.

A wave of bravery or spite passed through Sara and Greg both, and they hugged tightly, side to side, grinning at Grissom like Cheshire cats.

Greg nodded towards Sara to speak for them, but she demurred, giving the pleasure to Greg.

"I used skin tags from hair, buccal cells, and external epithelials, just to make triply sure. I watched Sara make the collection, and she watched me do the DNA analysis."

"Greg, there isn't a minimum word count to the answer," Grissom barked impatiently.

"The DNA values in Compliance don't match Nick's. They're bogus. Someone must have replaced the files, or changed them," he summarized, beaming.

"Greg didn't screw up before, and Nick's not guilty," Sara said forcefully, as though seeking some form of apology from Grissom.

"That fits into my working hypothesis," Grissom said, deflating Sara somewhat. It was bad enough that she was unable to get him to admit the error, but now they find out that he has a theory that he hadn't seen fit to share.

Greg could feel Sara stiffen, and could tell that she was ready to risk Grissom's ire yet again by speaking her mind. Whether he was buoyed by their discovery, or given courage from his proximity to Sara, or evincing gallantry by protecting her, he spoke first.

"And that theory is ...? If you don't mind sharing with the worker bees, that is."

Grissom looked at Greg, at first a flash of annoyance crossing his face, like when spoken to inappropriately by a child. Strangely, that feeling was supplanted by something akin to pride. Maybe Greg was maturing; teenaged rebellion was a common step towards independence, the forging of an individual identity as an adult. Though he was closer to thirty, Greg had always seemed like a perpetual teen to Grissom.

"I needed more validation before putting it forth as a hypothesis. It's dangerous to form an opinion before you have the facts," he said in his own defense. "But it might be helpful now. I think that someone hacked into our system and replaced Nick's DNA values, as you just demonstrated. I wasn't sure at first whether it was the suspect DNA records from Dallas or CODIS at first, which would still leave Nick as a suspect in the Las Vegas crime."

"How'd you come to that conclusion?" Greg asked.

"I spoke with a computer expert at UNLV. He said that it wouldn't take a world-class hacker to break in. However, if the hacker were any good, he'd be hard to detect. We'll start with our own IT group, but if they can't find anything, we'll call in an expert."

"Someone should tell Nick," Sara said, looking at Greg before turning to Grissom.

"Why don't you do that, since you're so close," Grissom said, turning abruptly.

Grissom heard nothing as he left, and all Greg could make out was a mumbled response that sounded suspiciously like an anatomically impossible command. Greg turned to her, lifting an eyebrow in surprise.

"Did you just say what I think you said?"

"No. I didn't tell him to do that to himself. It's all in your fertile imagination," Sara said, freeing herself from their continued embrace to pull out her cell phone.

"I didn't think so. That would be insubordinate, not to mention crude," Greg said, shaking his head.

"Exactly," Sara agreed as she listened to Nick's phone ring. When he picked up, he sounded cautious.

"Nicky!" she chirped. "You're clear! The DNA records in Compliance are bogus. You're out of the doghouse now."

"Phew! Sara, I don't know how to thank you."

"Not just me, Nick. Greg's been on it night and day, and Grissom worked the computer angle. We were all behind you."

"You guys are the best! Can I come back to work then?"

"You better call Grissom to find that out," Sara said cautiously. She didn't want to hazard an answer, only to have Grissom shoot it down.

"Okay, Greggo," Sara said resolutely as she ended her conversation with Nick. "Now that Nick's safely in the clear, let's find out who the asshole is who tried to frame him. He or she is dead meat – and you know how I feel about meat."

"Should we assume that the DNA record is the perp's and that they used Nick's name to cover their tracks?"

"Assume nothing," she answered sharply, though not harshly.

* * *

"Who'd you talk to?" Greg asked, facing Grissom.

"The supervisor of IT," Grissom answered.

"That's the problem, then. Never ask a supervisor something like that. Even if he knows the answer, he probably won't admit it, especially to another supervisor. You should talk to the rank and file. On second thought, _you_ shouldn't talk to any of them. You're management," Greg said, as though it immediately cast an aspersion on Grissom's parentage.

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"I'll talk to Josh," Greg said, nodding.

"Which one is he?" Grissom asked, not really knowing the IT members that well.

"About 25, but looks 12. Blonde hair. Ponytail. Permanent IT pallor from never getting any exposure to natural light," Greg answered.

"Don't they all look like that?"

"No. Henry has dark hair."

"Are those all the computer people we have?" Grissom asked, surprised.

"No, but those are the two who support the mainframe and the servers. The others support applications, development, desktops – stuff like that."

Greg pulled out his cell phone and scanned through the stored numbers, finally stopping at one and pressing the call key.

"Dude, where are you? Still here? What kind of upgrade? Man, that bites. Yeah, I'm working late, too. You up for a break? I thought we could go outside, get some unprocessed air. I hear that the sky is actually a funny looking light blue this time of day, instead of black. Yeah, no shit. Wanna go take a look? I need to ask you a computer question. Okay, meet you in five."

Greg flipped the cell phone closed, and smiled triumphantly towards Grissom.

He reappeared at Grissom's desk in 20 minutes, reporting that Josh was only too happy to stay after his already-extended shift to look into the matter.

"Don't say anything officially, Grissom, 'cause he's doing this on his own time, under the departmental radar, just like us. But, if you see him, you might want to let him know you appreciate it. Acknowledge that he helped with an investigation, you know?"

"Everybody wants to be a CSI," Grissom said, smiling almost smugly.

"That's only because the CSIs get credit for what we all do. I don't know if you ever think about it, but everyone who works in this building, from the Lab Director down to the maintenance guys and the property room clerk, help solve crimes. You guys are the ones everyone sees and talks to, but how far would you get without the rest of us?"

"Not very far," Grissom agreed, looking appraisingly at Greg.

"We could all make more money, and maybe even get more recognition, working out in the private sector. But we all chose to work here, because we wanted to contribute what we could towards making the city we live in a safer place."

"Sign me up," Sara said, coming up behind him. "You sound like a recruiting brochure."

"I mean it!" Greg said, playing at being hurt.

"The funny thing is, I believe you. And with enthusiasm like that, I'd follow you anywhere," Sara said, smiling encouragingly.

Grissom took all of this in, allowing unconnected thoughts to form freely in his mind. He realized that Greg had scientific knowledge, the right motivation, positive energy – all he lacked was experience. Grissom had often dismissed him, but now it occurred to him that one day Greg could be a good leader.

Seeing that Greg's infectious enthusiasm was mirrored, however briefly, in Sara, Grissom was reminded of her not that many years ago. She used to arrive at work crackling with energy, a bulldog that couldn't wait to sink her teeth into the next case, never letting go until it was solved.

When did she change? Why did she change? Can she get that excitement back? Can he do anything to help?

And then he realized that he, too, had lost much of the sense of joy that he used to bring to his work. The love of the science and the thrill of the hunt seemed dulled, though he knew it was still there somewhere.

When did he change? Why did he change? Can he get that excitement back? Can she do anything to help?

"Nick was fortunate to have you two on his case," Grissom said, uncharacteristically. "If I were in that sort of trouble, I couldn't think of two people I'd rather have on my side."

At first he was met with blank, curious looks from the two younger people, but then they couldn't help but grin as the warmth of appreciation spread through them. Oftentimes, respect and acknowledgement are far greater rewards than a paycheck is.

* * *

Greg at first thought it was a pounding in his head, a headache brought on by too much work, too much stress, and not enough sleep. Soon he was awake enough to realize it was his front door receiving the beating, so he stumbled out of bed to see who was there. Opening it, he saw the pale form of Josh, holding a paper sack.

"Dude! Why didn't you answer the door?" Josh asked, pushing past the still somnolent Greg.

"I was asleep," he managed to mumble.

"Sleep? Save that for when you're old, dude. I brought beer, and I rented the new version of "Texas Chainsaw Massacre."

"Cool," Greg managed, as he flopped down on the couch. Josh put the DVD into the player, turning on the TV. He opened them both a beer and settled in beside Greg.

"Oh, before I forget, here's the printscreen from the change history on that Compliance record you asked about," Josh said, absently pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to Greg.

Greg blinked several times, attempting to force his sleepy eyes to focus as he unfolded the crumpled piece of paper. Reading it, he scratched at the gel-encrusted spikes on his head.

"Josh, I read English. I read chemistry. I can even read biochemistry -- and it's got really big words. I don't read computer. What does this say?" he asked tiredly, handing it back to the almost ghostly young man.

Snickering, Josh looked at it briefly. "It says that it was only changed once since it was created, and that was a month ago by username SIDLES. I looked it up and it's some chick named Sara Sidle, a CSI on your shift. You know her, man? Is she hot?"

"Yeah, I know her. And yeah, she's hot," Greg answered weakly. Greg felt too tired to think about it, but he knew he had to act. He knew his professional duty was to call Grissom and tell him what Josh found out. He sifted through the detritus on his coffee table, locating his cell phone. He took a deep breath as he pressed the speed dial code he'd set up years ago.

"It's Greg. I thought you should know that Josh, the computer guy I know, looked into who changed the record on Nick's Compliance. Yeah. He's here. I think you should come see this. No, I don't really want to go over it on the phone. You know where I live? Okay, I'll see you in a little while."

He barely sipped at a single beer, not wanting to fall back to sleep yet. Josh had raided the kitchen, bringing in an assortment of snacks. Greg ate a little, but found that his stomach was too queasy to accept much.

Even the gruesome action of the movie did little to keep his mind off of the disturbing discovery. The half an hour until the knock on the door seemed like a lifetime. Josh looked over as Greg jumped up from the couch, glad he'd fallen asleep in his clothes as he pulled the door open.

"This is Josh Christiansen, the computer guy I was telling you about. We've been friends for years," Greg said, cocking his head backwards towards the couch.

Josh paused the movie and stood, walking over to the door. He held his hand out uncertainly, as though he wasn't accustomed to greeting new acquaintances.

"Hey, Josh. Glad to meet you. My name's Sara."

Josh looked at Greg, smiling. "She _is_ hot," he whispered, still all too audibly.

Sara looked over at Greg accusingly, an eyebrow cocked.

"You'll have to excuse Josh. He's not accustomed to interacting with human beings. No social filters whatsoever."

"Refreshingly honest," Sara said, smiling at the young man.

"Josh, show that paper to Sara," Greg said, walking back to the kitchen to get them all fresh beers.

The young man silently handed the page to Sara, nervously pointing out her name. He wasn't nervous because it implicated her – after all, he wasn't aware of many of the details or implications of the case. He just wasn't used to being around such an attractive woman.

Living in Las Vegas, he'd seen his share of beautiful women, but they tended towards the glamorous or pseudo-glamorous. He missed the earthy beauty of the girls he'd grown up with in Minnesota. Sara didn't really look like them, since most of his neighbors were Scandinavian like him, but she still had that solid quality of 'realness' that reminded him of home.

"What the ...?" Sara said, looking up at Greg when he handed her the beer. "I don't understand this. I didn't change this record. I wouldn't even know how. As far as I know, I don't even have access to that stuff."

"You shouldn't," Greg said. "I do, because I put the results of Compliance testing in. But, even if we were conspiring together, it would have my name on it, not yours. I guess we should check to make sure you don't have access. Someone could have logged in as you."

"She doesn't," Josh said with a mouthful of potato chips. "Already checked."

He swallowed, wincing at what must have been a less-than-well-chewed chip that scratched his throat. He washed it down with a long swig of his beer.

"Security is assigned by roles. Your role as a CSI doesn't give you access to that area. You couldn't log in to modify a record, no matter how geeky you are. Are you a geek? I dig geeky chicks," he said, smiling.

"I guess that depends on your perspective," she answered, smiling. "The average guy would probably think I'm geeky, but I doubt you would. I guess you'd call me semi-geeky."

"Better than nothing," he said.

"Down boy," Greg ordered. "This is important stuff. You'll have to save the suave charm for later."

"Okay, how did this happen then?" Sara asked, looking towards the thin, blond man.

"Someone must have hacked in. Not only did they change the record, but they falsified the change history as well. Considering that the name – your name – is false, the time and date could be false as well. When you get down to it, you can't believe anything about this record."

"Can you find out how it was done? Who did it?"

"Not me. I was born hacking-impaired, but I try not to let that get around. It would bring me shame in the eyes of my peers," Josh said, only half-joking.

"We need to talk to an expert," Greg said.

"Grissom talked with some guy at UNLV. I think his name was Simms. Do you know him? Is he any good?" Sara asked Josh.

"Yeah, I've heard of him. He's kind of unusual, in computer circles. He came to it late, but has caught up and even surpassed people who grew up in it. He's supposed to be some sort of whiz at computer security."

"You have ten minutes to shower and change, Greg, if you want to go to UNLV with me," Sara said commandingly.

Greg bolted off towards the rear of the apartment as Sara settled in on the couch. Josh pressed the 'play' button on the movie, shoving pretzels into his mouth as another body was dismembered on the screen.

"Texas Chainsaw Massacre," Sara noted. "The new one. That was last year, right?"

"Uh huh," Josh nodded.

"You like it better than the original?"

"Hmm," he intoned, squinting his eyes in thought.

"Yeah, I think I know what you mean. This one's got a lot more production value, but there's something sort of classic about the old indie version."

"I think I love you," Josh said once he'd cleared his mouth of pretzels.

Sara chuckled at the guilelessness of the young man.

"I'm not exactly available, Josh, but I'm sure there's a really geeky girl out there for you. You might have to come out of the computer room from time to time to find her, though."

Josh took on a crestfallen look. "I wouldn't know where to look."

"Computer stores? Someplace where they sell all the parts to build them? Software stores? Or maybe you should take some computer science classes at UNLV."

Josh looked at her questioningly.

"Not to learn anything. I'm sure you're already an expert. But to find girls who are interested in the same things you are. If you want to find geeky girls, you've got to go where there's a concentration of geeks, right?"

"That makes sense," he agreed, just as Greg reappeared, looking a bit odd to both of them until they realized that it was because his hair wasn't spiked. Ten minutes wasn't enough time to shower, change and coif.

"Dude, lock the door on your way out," Greg said over his shoulder. Josh nodded and settled back into a slump on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table, intent on finishing his movie and eating as much of Greg's food as possible.

* * *

It was 11:00 pm, and the table was surrounded by the five CSIs and Greg. It wasn't typical of the lab techs to be part of the assignments meeting, but Greg had been summoned by Grissom.

"Okay, a lot has happened in the past few days, so let's recap where we are so far," Grissom began. "As you all know, we'd got a Compliance hit on some evidence for a murder that appeared to match Nick. Turns out that the Compliance record must have been altered. Greg, did you get anything from that computer guy?"

"Yeah. The change record has Sara's name on it," he said matter-of-factly.

All eyes at the table turned towards Sara, who unconsciously tilted her chin up, defiantly.

"But that's not possible," Greg continued.

"Anything's possible," Catherine said, a hint of accusation in her voice.

It didn't surprise Sara that Catherine was the most willing to believe that she'd have any part in this, though it did surprise her that Catherine didn't catch that Greg wouldn't be talking so openly and unaffectedly about it if it were true.

"Yeah, well, it's just as possible that you did it, and framed Sara," Greg said, smiling.

Catherine shifted in her seat, her annoyance with Greg evident. "Yes, but there's evidence that Sara did it, not that I did it. Or did I misunderstand you?"

"No, you didn't misunderstand. You just don't know what you're talking about ... in this particular case," Greg added, seeing the flash of near-murderous rage pass through Catherine's eyes.

"Perhaps you can educate us," Grissom pitched in, hoping to avert a full-scale civil war in his small group. Whoever had done this had not only been clever enough to hide the evidence of the real killer, but he'd redirected the focus of the investigation, turning co-worker against co-worker.

"Sure. Josh said that it wasn't possible for Sara to have changed the record, because she doesn't have the security access to do that. Even if she found a way to get into the Compliance database to modify it, she'd have to use the username of someone with access, see?"

"That makes sense," Warrick said, also hoping to calm the emotional charge in the room.

"Even if you had access, I know you'd never do something like that," Nick said, smiling at Sara, creases and dimples forming on his cheeks.

"Thanks, Nick. That makes two of you so far who support me," she said, looking over towards Greg.

"I'm in," Warrick said.

"Okay, three," Sara amended. The four looked towards Catherine and Grissom, silently challenging them to make a commitment one way or the other.

"The evidence never lies," Catherine said.

"No, but you have to be careful to discern what the real evidence is," Grissom corrected. "It can easily be fictitious, as we saw with Nick's false DNA pattern in the Compliance database. It's evident to me that someone not only changed Nick's record, but falsified who changed it as well."

"Thank you, Grissom," Sara said, her voice wavering slightly. She hadn't expected such a public show of support without him having time to validate all the evidence.

"I'm not saying I believe that Sara's behind this," Catherine said, backpedalling. "I'm just saying that we have to look at the evidence, just like we would any other case. We can't just dismiss it out of hand, because we don't want to believe it. We have to prove it, just like any other case. That's all I'm saying."

"Four and a half," Sara said, jokingly, breaking the tension. "Catherine, you're right. We all knew that Nick couldn't kill those women, but we had to prove it. I didn't frame him, and I'm depending on all of you to prove it."

Sara's statement seemed to pull them all together again, validating Catherine's concern on a professional level, while glossing over any possible personal motivation.

"We can talk to that expert at UNLV," Grissom suggested.

"Been there. Done that," Greg said. "Sara and I went there today."

"Good of you to keep me up to speed," Grissom said, raising an eyebrow.

"We've been working the case, Grissom," Sara said.

"In this part of the case, Sara, you're the suspect. It's not typical for the suspect to work the evidence," Catherine chided.

"I guess I didn't see myself that way, since I knew I didn't do it. Greg and I were just following a lead, ignoring the specifics. It's not like I went out there by myself, looking for someone to back my story."

"Still, you need to recuse yourself from this part of the investigation," Catherine suggested.

"Catherine's right," Grissom added. "We excluded Nick from the initial investigation, and you need to sit out this part. Give us a little time, and we'll get this thing straightened out."

"What did the computer guy say?" Warrick asked, wanting to get back to the case.

"Oh, he said that changing the username isn't unusual. After all, you want to deflect any suspicion that the record is bogus."

"Why Sara?" Nick asked.

"He said she was probably logged onto the computer. The hacker would want to use someone who was online at the time, in case someone wanted to verify that. It would be a little suspicious if she could prove that she wasn't even in the building at the time."

"Why didn't the hacker pick someone who actually had the security to do a modification to the Compliance database?" Grissom asked.

"Simms said that there could be a couple of reasons. The guy might not be that sophisticated. Or he might have thought that we'd probably never get that far anyway. Or it could be that our security in that area is higher, so it would take a lot more effort to find out who had access."

"So he just picked a name randomly, of someone logged on. Sara was the lucky stiff," Nick said.

"Exactly," Greg agreed.

"Simms?" Nick asked, his face pinched in a scowl. It was evident that he was trying to remember something or someone.

"Yeah."

"I knew a Simms once."

"Cody Simms?" Sara asked.

"Yeah, that was his name. We were partners in Dallas," Nick said.

"What did he look like?" Greg asked.

"Kind of unusual, but the ladies must have thought he was attractive."

"Unusual how?" Grissom asked, also having seen Simms.

"He's black, but his eyes are a golden color instead of dark brown. All the women we worked with seemed to go wild over his eyes."

"Sounds like the same guy," Sara said. "About 6'4". Maybe 220, but all muscle. Sound familiar?"

"Well, he wasn't that beefy when I knew him, but the height sounds right. He was a few inches taller than me," Nick answered.

"You probably weren't this beefy then, either," Sara said, smiling.

"No, I wasn't. We were young – just starting out. We were both fairly new CSIs. He had a couple of years on me. Damn, I haven't thought of him in years. I'm glad to hear he's found his niche."

"I take it being a CSI wasn't his niche?" Grissom stated.

"No. He was fired," Nick said, almost guiltily.

"Why?" Catherine asked.

"We were working a high-profile case, which was weird enough, considering we were both a little green. But we were short-handed, and there were other important cases going on at the same time. It was a string of rapes and murders. There had been three. We finally hit on some physical evidence on the last one, other than DNA."

"And?"

"And Cody lost it," Nick said simply.

"He lost the evidence? How?"

"I don't know. We were together when it was collected. I bagged it and he logged it in right in front of me. He took the bag of evidence back to the lab for processing. When they unpacked it, the evidence was missing. He said he didn't know how, that I must have not put it in the bag. We were both in hot water for a while, but he was the one who'd logged it in, so he was the one responsible for it. I guess it wasn't the first time he screwed up, because they let him go."

"So he blamed you?" Sara said.

"Yeah, I guess so. He said that I should have covered for him, if I was a good partner. But I couldn't see any way to do it. I saw him put the evidence in the bag, and it disappeared. I couldn't think of any way to back him," Nick said, defensively.

"You did the right thing," Grissom said.

"It's not like I tried to throw him under the bus," Nick said. "As a matter of fact, I told the truth when I said that I had no idea what had happened. That was the best I could do. I never outright blamed him."

"But he implicated you," Grissom said.

"Yeah. I guess once it was clear that his career was on the line, he told them that I'd lost it. But it was his name on the Chain of Custody form, so they didn't buy what he was selling."

"Sounds like motive," Warrick said.

"Sounds like more than that to me," Sara said, her brow knit in thought. The others turned towards her expectantly.

"I think it's pretty clear that we've got reason to believe that he might be behind framing Nick ... and me. But I'm beginning to get the feeling that there's more. I'm thinking that he might be behind the rapes and murders."

"I'd buy the first part, Sar, but I don't know about the last," Nick said. "I didn't know him all that long, but he never struck me as a psycho. He seemed pretty level-headed most of the time. Really, really smart. He had a knack for taking a lot of loose data and fitting it into a logical order."

"No wonder he found a home in computer geekdom," Greg added.

"Being smart and being a murderer aren't mutually exclusive," Grissom said.

"Why would he help us on this case, if he's intent on framing Nick?" Catherine asked.

"Diversionary tactic, I'd assume," Grissom answered. "Not to mention the fact that serial killers often have a desire to be part of the investigation in some manner. Sometimes it's to keep track of what the investigators know. Sometimes it's to throw them off the scent. And sometimes it's just to feel the thrill of knowing that he's part of his own investigation, knowing that he's not suspected. It makes them feel like they're smarter than the cops."

"Pride goeth before a fall," Warrick quoted.

"Okay, how do we prove this? Where do we start?" Greg asked.

"We need a sample of his DNA," Catherine answered.

"Do we have enough probable cause for a warrant?"

"No, probably not. This is all just theory and conjecture on our part," Grissom answered.

"So, how do we get his DNA?" Greg asked.

"Hmm, can you smell it already? That putrid, sour smell that you can only find one place," Sara teased.

"Garbage can," Nick answered.

"Once that trash is out on the street, it's fair game. No warrant necessary," Catherine explained to Greg.

"We're going dumpster-diving," Greg said, with mock-delight.

"And since you're the resident DNA expert, we'll let you sift through the trash with us, locating anything that could possibly have DNA on it," Catherine offered.

"Oh, goody! Just what I always wanted to do!"

"You wanted the glamorous life of a CSI," Sara reminded him.

"I just didn't realize so much of that life was spent in trash."

"If you're a criminal, are you gonna keep the evidence, or throw it away?" Warrick asked in a mentoring voice.

"Ditch it," Greg answered.

"Tomorrow's trash pick-up day. We'll wait until he goes to work, then we'll empty the container for him. He'd expect it to be empty when he got home, anyway. He just won't know that we have it. Bring it back here, dump it on a table, and start picking through it," Nick said, lining out the steps for Greg.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure," Grissom quoted.

* * *

"Bingo! Thirteen for thirteen," Greg almost squealed to a roomful of CSIs who were anxiously awaiting the DNA results.

"What did you use from the trash?" Grissom asked. He'd allowed Catherine, Warrick and Greg to handle the collection, while he, Nick and Sara worked the other cases of the evening. Grissom didn't want any allegations to come up in a possible subsequent trial that any of the affected or suspected parties had a hand in the DNA collection.

"I didn't find any of the jackpot items, like a condom or hair. But I did find some used tissues and paper towels. Epithelial City. I did five extractions, and all five match the 13 markers. The control is normal, and the blank is, well, blank. Just like it should be," Greg said, beaming.

"Good work," Sara said, encouragingly.

A few months ago, when Greg first started training as a CSI, he felt a little unwanted by the group, as thought he were ignoring his place in the scheme of things. But this case seemed different. They still accepted him as the DNA guru, but he also felt more comfortable on the investigative end as well.

Even when it was apparent that he didn't know something, one of the CSIs would explain it to him, and their tone didn't sound condescending this time, but took on a mentoring quality. He had wondered if they would ever let him into their inner circle, and he was now beginning to think that they might.

"Now we have enough for a warrant," Grissom said.

"Why do we need one? We already have his DNA," Greg said.

"He could claim it isn't his. We need to pick him up for questioning, and take a direct DNA sample," Nick answered. "Clean sweep. We'll clear our cases, and the old cases from Dallas."

"Sweet," Greg nodded.

"I'll call Brass," Grissom offered. "Have him get the warrants. Good work, everybody. You stayed focused, even though Simms tried to divert us by trying to make us suspect each other."

"It was a good lesson," Greg said. "I know you always say that the evidence never lies, but I learned that sometimes you've got to look deeper than what it appears like on the surface."

* * *

"Hey, thanks for standing up for me," Sara said, taking her usual place at Grissom's doorway.

"You'd have done the same for me," Grissom said, blushing somewhat at her smile.

Walking into his office, Sara turned and closed the door, piquing Grissom's curiosity.

"I'm not dating Nick," she said, as though the previous conversation about it had never been interrupted.

"Not my business," Grissom said, again shuffling papers as a distraction.

"Are you saying it doesn't matter to you?"

"I didn't say it didn't matter. I said that it wasn't my business."

"I went over to be a friend. We had a few beers while we talked. If you'll recalled, we'd worked almost 48 straight hours. I was too sleepy to drive safely, so Nick suggested that I crash there. I offered to sleep on the couch, but he insisted that I sleep in his bed."

"This is the part I don't need to hear," Grissom said, a tic playing with his facial muscles.

"And he took the couch," Sara said, pressing on. "Nick and I are just friends. We could have slept in the same bed, for all that mattered, and nothing would have happened. But we didn't. I need for you to believe me."

"Okay, I believe you," he said, a little too quickly.

"No, really. I need to feel your trust again."

Grissom breathed out heavily. "There are a lot of things I need to feel again. I don't know when or how, but I seem to have lost my connection to things."

"I know what you mean," Sara agreed. "Nothing feels the same as it used to."

"Yes. That's what I mean," Grissom said, nodding sadly. "But you can't turn back time."

"You can try," Sara said, smiling. "Stand up."

"What?"

"Stand up. Come on. Humor me," she said.

Grissom stood from his chair, as did she.

"Now, turn around," she directed.

"What are you up to?" he asked.

"Trust me," she said.

Grissom turned his back to her, peeking over his shoulder once to see where she was and what she was doing. She was standing with her arms crossed, with a big smile on her face. He turned back to face away from her, waiting to see what she had in mind.

"Who played Mr. Roper on the old sitcom 'Three's Company'?" she asked.

"Normal Fell," Grissom answered.

"Wouldn't you if you were married to Mrs. Roper?" Sara said brightly.

"Sara Sidle. I don't even have to turn around." Grissom remembered all too well their first conversation when she arrived in Las Vegas.

"It's me!" she chirped as he walked up to her.

"Sara, I have so many unanswered whys," he said sadly.

From there, history folded back into the present, being rewritten to hopefully take a different turn.

"I've come here to help answer them," she said, smiling wistfully.

"Welcome to Las Vegas," Grissom said sincerely. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," she said, joining him in a heart-felt, healing embrace.


End file.
